


two roads diverged on the henbane river

by outranks



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Religious Themes, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-12 22:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outranks/pseuds/outranks
Summary: Rook remembers arriving at the compound and entering the church and after that... it gets complicated.He remembers Joseph in front of his flock and he remembers a criminal in front of his followers. The bitter taste of fear as the helicopter crashed, or being welcomed into the family and being accepted and being loved.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is some real self indulgent nonsense

The Jessop Conservatory was always going to be a major point of contention in the Henbane River region. On one side there’s the resistance who are desperate to snuff out the source of the Bliss production and the thing that allows the Seeds to maintain their stranglehold over Hope County. On the other side is Eden's Gate who would very much like to keep their Bliss production and experimentation facility alive and well, thank you.

And right in the middle of those two opposing factions are crops of Bliss flowers that don’t really do well under a onslaught of gunfire, spitting up pollen and petals into the air like snow. And that, of course, is exactly where Rook happens to be. Dodging bullets from both sides, trying to find better cover, and nearly falling on his ass every two feet as the world sways and shimmers around him. 

The ground doesn’t want to stay put where it belongs and instead decides to curl up from one side and then to the other, bursting into little fireworks of white light.

He reaches a small shed and rounds the corner, hoping this will provide an adequate cover from the sniper that's been trying very hard to take his head off. It does, which is good, but also it brings him right up close and personal with a shotgun aimed directly for his heart, which is not so good. 

"Whoa, hey there," he says, hands up, and takes one careful step backward, cautious of going too far and ending up back in the sniper's sights.

There's a shot and Rook braces for the actual physical pain of having his heart torn to shreds, but that doesn’t happen. He’s fine. Somehow. Instead it's the man holding the shotgun who falls to the ground, bleeding from a brand new hole in his chest cavity. He looks around, trying to spot his guardian angel. There are people everywhere and no one is even looking in his direction that he can tell, so he shouts a quick "Uh, thank you!" into the fray and gives a thumbs up, just in case.

There’s a small _ting_ of something hitting metal, and then everything is on fire. It spreads fast, creeping up the walls of the shed, and licking at his skin. The Bliss must be burning too because Rook can taste that sugary sweetness in the smoke, as if it wasn’t already bad enough. It coats his tongue and stings his eyes, making it harder to find somewhere else to run.

There's a truck with a few Bliss containers in the back, parked on the pavement not too far away. Maybe five feet. _Maybe_. Hard to tell when when it keeps moving in and out of focus. 

Rook reaches the bed of the truck as he hears another shot ring out and feels something scrape past his head. Too close, way too close. He dives to ground, out of sight, as one of the Bliss containers explodes above him, covering everything in soft green powder. 

The world shudders violently, fracturing into pieces like little shards of glass as the Bliss enters his lungs through his nose and mouth. The world becomes so, so quiet and the only sounds left are his own desperate gasping breaths.

And then, all at once, the noise comes back. The gunfire, the shouting, the fire burning the wooden shed to ash. It's all there, layered against the ringing in Rook's ears. He tries to stand, to get away from the Bliss, but only gets as far as sitting up, using one of the truck’s tires for support. All of his limbs feel somehow both too heavy and too weightless. 

He stays there as the fighting comes to an end and all the noise goes away again.

Beside him, lying on the ground where it must have fallen from his holster, is his radio. Rook sits, staring vaguely, trying to make sense of the voice that comes through. The Bliss is making everything feel like a puzzle and he doesn’t have all the pieces.

"Rook? Rook, are you there? Please answer me."

That's Faith Seed's voice, isn't it? She doesn't usually speak to him through his radio. At least he thinks she doesn't. He makes no move to answer her, all of his thoughts floating around in his head trying to work out how Faith would normally speak to him. It's a simple concept he can't seem to grasp the conclusion to.

Rook is so deep in his own head that he doesn't notice when _Jacob Seed_ walks over to him. Doesn't see him at all until he's standing right there, right in front of him, close enough to touch, and bending over to pick up the radio. Faith's voice is still there, though perhaps a bit more frantic. It's hard to be sure. 

"He's fine," Jacob says, though he looks at Rook like he's not entirely convinced of that. "No need to get yourself all worked up."

"I am not--"

Jacob flips the switch on the radio, shutting it off, and tossing it back to the ground beside Rook. Well that was rude. Joseph wants his siblings to at least make an attempt at getting along and-- Rook frown, staring up at Jacob. "What are you doing here?"

"You asked for my help," Jacob says, and sets his rifle down with much more care than he showed Rook's poor radio.

"I asked for your help?" That doesn't sound like something Rook would do. Why would he ask a Seed to help him destroy their own property? That doesn't make sense at all and yet... the Bliss makes everything confusing and ethereal. Jacob doesn't even feel like an enemy.

Jacob grabs Rook by the arm and hauls him up so that they're standing face to face. His eyes are very blue.

"The Bliss really got you good, huh," Jacob says. With his free hand he takes Rook by the chin and gently turns his head to the side, holding him in place. He touches his fingers to Rook's temple and _that stings_. "Just a scratch." His fingers are shiny and wet with Rook’s blood. 

"Shit, Rook," he says. "For a second there it looked like you'd been shot in the head. Thought I would come over here and have to see your brain all over the ground." His shoulders drop with relief and Rook wouldn't have noticed at all if it weren't for how well he knows Jacob.

Except he doesn't know Jacob at all. Not really, besides all the bad stuff.

"I don't think I'm dead," Rook tells him helpfully, because it's always nice to get a second opinion on these things. Also Jacob is starting to sparkle around the edges, which isn't even the weirdest thing happening in Rook's life at the moment. So maybe he's not dead, but he's _something_. "I don't know what's going on or why you're here," he whispers. It's a secret.

"That's the Bliss." Jacob tugs on his arm, pulling him closer and he's so very gentle--

And Rook stumbles back, landing on his ass.

"Come on, man. Blink once for yes and two for no." Sharky's kneeling in front of him, waving a hand in Rook's face.

Rook looks from the lights trailing after Sharky's fingers, to the embers coming off the ruined shack, then over to the resistance starting their clean up of the conservatory. Did they win? Were they supposed to? It takes some effort to drag his eyes back to Sharky's concerned, dirt covered face. "What's the question?"

"Good enough." Sharky claps Rook on the shoulder, sending him sideways toward the ground. "Okay, yeah, wow, you are a little fucked up on Bliss right now. That shit’s not good for you, you know, it’ll make you want to do weird cult things and not the fun kind. That's why I never touch the stuff myself."

"It's everywhere, Sharky. It's in the _air_."

Sharky nods and gets to his feet, dragging Rook along with him. "That is a fair point you're making while totally Blissed off your ass."

"No, no, I'm fine." Rook sways on his feet, completely unbalanced, unable to shake the feeling that he's being pulled in two different directions. Floating and weighted down, down, down. 

He tries to steady himself on Sharky, but misjudges the distance or maybe just Sharky's edges. He's very blurry. The truck is solid, however, so he uses that instead and doesn't fall back to the pavement. "Just... just give me a minute."

He's been in the Bliss countless times by now, but this is different. It feels different. _He_ feels different. Like his skin, his clothes, even Hope fucking County don't fit right. Pulled too tight around him, forcing him into spaces he doesn't belong. "I'm fine, I'm fine."

"You keep saying that like I'm suddenly gonna believe you," Sharky says. "Here, drink this."

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

Sharky actually rolls his eyes. "Man, do you see any alcohol around here? It's water. Gotta stay hydrated when you're a freedom fighter."

There isn't much water in the bottle, but Rook is grateful for it anyway. Some of the lingering taste of the Bliss washes away, making his throat burn a little less. "Thanks."

"It’s nothing." Sharky takes the bottle back and tosses it over his shoulder. Apparently it's no use to him empty so it's no longer his problem. It lands in front of a member of the resistance who casts them both dirty looks and bends over to pick it up and puts it with the rest of the peggie trash marked for disposal. "So, if you're definitely sure you won't die they're torch'n those peggie flags and I want in on it."

"Yeah, go have fun," Rook says and Sharky is already gone.

Rook takes another minute to himself, but he he can't just wait around for the Bliss to let go. The Henbane River region is seeped in it, probably will be for years, so there's no avoiding it while they’re here. And now there are bodies to move, peggie flags to burn, Books of Joseph to collect, and who knows what else terrible things lurk throughout the conservatory. 

Some of the barrels are marked with bright red Xs and the words 'Unstable' printed on top, which isn't a great sign for whatever else is inside. Regular Bliss is bad enough, he can’t begin to imagine how bad the unstable shit has to be.

Each of the crates has a marking on the side, but no one has the key for whatever code the peggies were using, so they have to pry open a few of them determine what's inside. Turns out the only things being shipped to or from this outpost were ammo and Bliss. No food, no clothing, nothing else. What a way to live.

One of the resistance is with him sorting through the crates. An older woman with a friendly smile and a crowbar she claims she's killed two dozen peggies with. "These poor bastards," she says. "Almost feel sorry for 'em if they weren't such miserable fucks try'n'a kill everyone."

"Yeah," Rook agrees, writing Biss in big letter across the top of a crate. He's doing his best to keep going, but exhaustion has settled into him, trying to pull him under.

"Well, what can ya do?” she asks, like these things just happen. “I think we're almost done here, if you'll take that ammo inside for safe keeping, I'll finish labeling this shit."

"Yes, ma'am."

They’ve created something of a maze in their sorting and labeling of all the things the peggies had left that Rook has to navigate to get inside the main building. He’s just setting down the ammo boxes when Sharky catches him, stopping in his tracks to give Rook a once over. 

"Uh, okay, don't take this the wrong way, but you look worse that I did after my last birthday extravaganza," Sharky pauses with a grimace, "I was legally dead for five minutes, you know how it is."

Rook does not know how it is.

"I'm just saying that maybe you should take a break. Get some rest. You're really bumming everyone out. Well, maybe just me I haven't asked anyone else, though I’m sure that if I did they'd say you look like death."

“I told you I’m _fine_.” 

Rook tries to push past him to get back outside, but Sharky doesn’t budge. Instead, he takes Rook by the shoulders and spins him around to face the staircase. “Get some rest, man. We’re good here, you don’t have to do everything.”

"Yeah, okay, okay, I'll just--" Rook yawns, jaw cracking, and gestures toward the second floor where he knows there are beds.

He makes his way up the stairs, feet falling heavy on each step, and drops down on the first bed he comes to. The mattress is thin and cheap and the springs creak as he rolls to his side trying to find a more comfortable position. The sheets smell of the bulk ordered shampoo and conditioner most of the Project uses. Something that gives the idea of lemon without really committing to lemons at all. It's not even that strong, but Rook has to strip the pillowcase from the pillow anyway. He barely remembers to check the safety on his gun before laying it on top of the small cabinet beside the bed.

The singing starts as soon as he begins to drift off.

At first it's soft, distant. It's familiar, a song he knows well, takes comfort in, though he can't recall why or how and the further he slips into sleep the further the answers get. But the song gets louder, the singing converges in the room with him, solidifies and becomes real. Along with the gentle hands running fingers through his hair and the weight of someone beside him on the bed.

Faith.

Rook struggles to wake up, prying his eyes open against the force of his exhaustion. Faith stops singing.

"You fell deep into the Bliss," she says. "We won't let you get lost in it." She leans down, pressing her forehead to his temple where he knows the blood has dried in his hair, and whispers to him, her breath warm on his skin. "We'll always bring you back. We need you here, we love you." She reaches down, clutching at his wrist. "I promise."

Rook thinks her promise sounds like a threat.

There's movement across the room, just outside of Rook's view. The light from the window casts shadows on the wall, distorted shapes that move in sync with his heartbeat. This must be a hallucination. Another in an endless series of hallucinations that haunt him across the Henbane. And yet he knows, he _knows_ that it's Jacob standing there. Real, and whole, and present.

"He's not like one of your Angels, Faith. He's strong."

Faith's mouth goes thin and tight as she looks over at Jacob. This isn't a new argument, not about Rook, but about her Angels. They were weak so they became tools. Mindless, raging, tools that are too Blissed out to feel any pain. 

Rook doesn't want them to fight, knowing that Joseph would be disappointed.

No, that’s not right, Rook doesn't care about that. He wants nothing to do with the Seeds or their cult and it'll be a snowstorm in hell if he ever steps foot in Hope County again once this is all over. 

He tries to sit up, gets as far as propping himself up with his elbows as his mind struggles for clarity. Images spin around in his head, ideas that he can't hold onto. The thought that he should arrest Jacob, kill him, _anything_ rises to the surface. Rook reaches for his gun, before Faith can stop him, and aims it straight at Jacob's heart.

Only silence greets him, and an empty room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note the rating change. also fair warning it'll go up again

Fishing solves all problems, except for all of Rook's, including the ones about catching fish. He hasn't caught anything in the hour or so he's been trying and as the sun starts to set, bringing his relatively safe, peggie-free, time to an end, it's becoming more and more likely he'll continue to catch nothing. Seems fitting that the lone fishing spot he's found just south of John Seed's ranch would be a barren wasteland devoid of all trout.

Maybe it's the endless speeches played and replayed over the loudspeakers at the ranch or the constant musical stylings of the Eden's Gate choir that have scared all the wildlife away. Or maybe it's Rook's restless energy and how he can't sit still for more than a few minutes at a time.

He casts his line out again, not expecting any different results, but it's something to do. The music isn't the worst thing he's ever heard, at least. And John's enthusiasm for the Project mixed with Joseph's intensity is somewhat infectious, though Rook's energies aren't similarly focused. Still, it isn't difficult to imagine why people choose to follow them.

Or maybe Rook has just been listening for too long.

Every so often he hears what sounds like someone approaching, once he even heard what he could have sworn was his own name, but no one is there. Each time he remains alone. 

Idly he wonders if John has ever taken the time to appreciate the breadth of his property, the beauty of it. Probably not.

Rook reels his line back in when the sun finally sets, dipping behind the mountains, and taking with it his last excuse to stay put. He intends to take the ranch for the resistance tonight under cover of darkness. Hopefully if the peggies can't see him then he'll be able to avoid yet another gunfight and more unnecessary deaths. They never want to make it easy for him, though, and Rook' will do what he has to.

He leaves the fishing pole by the water. It was never his to begin with.

The ranch is, of course, heavily guarded. Two peggies stand near the hangar, heavily armed and heavily bearded, talking about how honored they are to be tasked with defending John's home. They speak with such fondness for the Seeds, in ways Rook has trouble understanding after everything they must have done to get this far. What sins of theirs has John personally carved into their flesh.

He waits until the two men separate before making a move. One of them goes back to the house, entering through a side door, and the other stays by the hangar, walking around the back of it. Once he’s out of site from the rest of the guards that’s when Rook catches him. It's not easy to choke a grown man unconscious, especially not one full of religious conviction and madness, but Rook's had a lot practice in recent days. 

There are another two guards closer to the house, a woman and yet another wild-haired, bearded man, nearly indistinguishable from the last and Rook weighs the pros and cons of trying to take them both out at once. But not too far away is another woman packing things into boxes, muttering the word of Joseph just loud enough to be heard from where Rook is hiding. It's too much of a gamble, he decides. He doesn't want to risk being seen before disabling the alarms.

Instead he goes left, the same way he saw the peggie go earlier, toward the side door leading into some part of the house. There isn't any light coming through any of the windows, and no movement he can see either, so that’s a good sign. Rook tests the door handle, finding it unlocked, and slowly, careful not to make any noise, he pushes it open.

"Rook?"

It's Joseph Seed. Standing under the bright lights of the kitchen, actually cooking something, and looking curious at his presence, but pleased all the same. He's wearing a white button-up shirt and jeans, and he's barefoot as well which somehow makes it all weirder. He looks so ridiculous and comfortable Rook doesn't know what to do with that. Cult leaders aren’t supposed to look normal.

"I knew God would not allow the Bliss to take you from us. He gave you to me, has shown me that our paths are one. I had faith that you would be well." At least he still sounds the same.

"What--" Rook takes a cautious step forward, unsure of himself and his surroundings. The shock of cold tile against his skin has him stopping, looking down to realise his boots are missing. Along with the rest of his clothes, it would seem. He’s not wearing a shirt, however he's got on pajama pants that, if the little cartoon planes are anything to go by, belong to John. "Where are my clothes?"

"You were covered in dirt and Bliss when Jacob brought you home," Joseph says. "He was worried about you. We all were."

When Rook looks up at Joseph the room is dark again. But he's not alone here, either. He has just enough time to think _Oh shit_ , before that same peggie he’d seen walk in here slams the butt of his rifle into Rook's head.

Joseph catches him as he stumbles backwards. "Perhaps you shouldn't be out of bed yet." He sounds so concerned and Rook finds that he wants to apologise for being so reckless.

Rook rubs against the spot where the rifle hit him and there's no pain. "'m fine, just tired, I guess."

Joseph laughs, hardly more than a soft puff of air. "Tired," he says, hands moving up Rook's arms then sliding onto his neck. The pads of his thumbs pressing into the underside of Rook's chin, forcing their eyes to meet. "You were asleep for over a day, Rook. We couldn't wake you, and while I knew we would not lose you, there were moments when I feared--" He breathes out, pressing in closer. "Please do not scare me like that again."

The warmth of Joseph's body is familiar, like coming home. But this isn't Rook's home, he doesn't belong to the Seeds. Especially not to Joseph. Yet prying himself away, putting space between them, takes more effort than it should. 

His mind is sent spinning, desperately trying to glue together the fragmented moments that make up his life. The feeling of being pulled in two directions is back and Rook tries to hold on to what he knows is real.

"Rook?" Joseph touches his neck again, and the dream fades away, forgotten.

Rook blinks, dizzy, but otherwise grounded. _This is his home_. "Guess I'm still a little out of it."

Joseph smiles all indulgent affection. "I would hope you'd decide to recover fully before going back out there, but I know you too well."

"What can I say, I--"

There's quick footsteps on the stairs, hurrying toward them. "Rook's gone," John says, before the door is entirely open. His face does something funny when he sees them, going from shocked, to confused, then settling on annoyed. "He's here. You're _here_." It’s an accusation more than anything.

He's similarly dressed to Rook, wearing a matching set of pajama pants that he really does have far too many pairs of, and leaving Joseph as the only one wearing a shirt. For once.

John lets out a frustrated noise, sort of like a growl, but more like a whine and points accusingly at Rook. "I've been _worried_ about you," he says like that's Rook's fault for making him care. Which, yes, in a lot of ways it is. Then he comes closer and drags Rook into a kiss that's maybe more teeth and frustration than it should be, but Rook understands, even if he hesitates. Just a moment of uncertainty. 

"I like that you care," Rook says, leaning back just enough to see John's face, and grinning a little too big.

John's fingers dig into Rook's hips. "Don't laugh."

"Sorry, I'm sorry." Rook presses a lighter, gentler kiss to John's lips.

"We understand that you're doing this for us, for our family," Joseph says, running his nails up and down Rook's spine, making him shiver. "We are grateful for that."

"But try harder not to get killed." John releases his hold, stepping away. "And brush your teeth."

"Maybe a shower as well," Joseph adds.

Rook is a little embarrassed he hadn't really noticed or considered the state he's in. Just the mention of a shower has all the days worth of dirt and sweat becoming more obvious as if telling him to hurry up and wash it off. He'd been in need of a good scrub even before Faith had asked for his help in keeping her outpost secure and that had been at least two full days earlier. "Yeah, a shower would be great."

"If you want, I can join you..."

Joseph sighs. "John."

John holds up his hands. "I only wish to help."

Rook chuckles, pressing another quick kiss to John's cheek before leaving the room. In the midst of the reaping, and with the coming collapse, it's nice to have these moments of domesticity. It isn't something Rook ever really had before and he knows it's something the Seeds all desperately need. Having a place to call home makes everything else worth the trouble to keep it. 

All the trials and the fighting. All the worry... Not only for himself, but for the people who care about him. For his friends and for what might happen to them. What is happening to them. Fear that no matter what he does he won't get to them in time--

Rook stops on the open air walkway that leads to the bedroom and the world seems to stop with him. But his heart is racing in his chest. There’s something he’s forgetting, something important, but--

It slips away and everything speeds back up. One of the faithful is walking the perimeter of the house and she waves when she spots him. Rook waves back, smiling, pulse coming down, and continues into the master bedroom and John's ridiculously luxurious bathroom.

Everything in here is new, chosen by John for John, yet the water still takes its time getting hot. Rook yawns and stretches, cracking his neck from side to side, and grabs his toothbrush. He stares at his reflection in the mirror above the sink while he brushes his teeth, noting the dark smudges under his eyes and the bruise that formed around the scrape on his temple. Would he have died if he hadn’t a purpose to fulfill? 

He spits toothpaste into the sink and rinses his mouth out with water from the tap as the mirror fogs over with steam.

The water in the shower is hot, turning his skin pink all over. It's amazing. John's fancy soap and expensive shampoo smell wonderful and Rook tilts his head back, into the spray, and groans. He takes his time, getting rid of every last trace of dirt and sweat until he's like a whole new person. 

He watches as the water runs over his skin, over every word, scar, and tattoo. All of the ink was gifted from John, but the words, the scars, those were all Joseph and Rook remembers those nights well.

The water remains hot even after Rook outstays the point where he’s washed clean. The heat eases his sore muscles and that awkward tightness around all of his edges.

There's knocking at the door, just a light _tap tap tap_ that Rook almost misses under the spray of water and he shuts the shower off just as Joseph steps into the bathroom, quickly closing the door behind him and trapping the steam inside.

"I wanted to check on you," Joseph says, handing over a towel. He isn't wearing his glasses and that's a shame; Rook always likes seeing him having to deal with something so human as fogged over lenses. Reminds him that Joseph is real, that he’s someone Rook is allowed to touch.

Rook takes the towel from him and begins to dry off, catching the way Joseph doesn’t bother to pretend he’s not watching. That is a look he knows well. Intimately. "Would that be lust, Father?"

Joseph frowns, radiating a familiar displeasure, and grabs Rook by the wrist. "How I feel about you is not a sin. God has chosen you for me and we are meant for each other." His fingers brush the words scarred into Rook's skin, low on his abdomen. Theirs is a matching set.

"Gonna show me?" Rook shivers, in spite of the heat in the air.

Whatever unhappiness Joseph felt is replaced by careful actions and warmth as he brushes a kiss over Rook’s lips. "You need to eat and there's food waiting for us."

That's fair. Rook is starving and his stomach clenches painfully, a reminder that he hasn't eaten in a while. But still. He sighs, scrubbing at his hair to get the excess water out.

"I brought you some clean clothes as well," Joseph says, leading him into the bedroom. "I'll be downstairs." He leaves Rook alone to get dressed with only a last lingering touch of warm hands brushing his arm..

The clothes are laid out on top of the bedspread, folded neatly. The jeans Rook recognises as his own, perhaps he'd left them here. Or had they been taken from his apartment? Most of his belongings were still sitting in boxes, never unpacked from the move to Hope County. Maybe Joseph had taken the initiative and brought Rook's things to the house for him. That's something he would do, though where the memory should be there's only a confusing static.

It's not important.

The shirt, however, is one of Jacob's. Worn soft after so many years of use and Rook has to roll up the sleeves because the nights may be cold, but the house is not. His stomach makes a noise, urging him to go faster now that it knows food is waiting.

He pads out of the bedroom, pausing inside the main part of the house as he spies one of the faithful in the kitchen, carefully laddleing whatever has been cooked out of the large pot on the stove and into a ceramic bowl. Rook watches him for a bit longer, before taking his seat at the table, across from John. 

Almost as soon as Rook sits down Joseph and the man from the kitchen bring out bowls of stew. Beef, probably, unless Jacob has gone hunting recently. Then it's something with antlers, though what, exactly, is anyone's guess.

"Thank you, Thomas," Joseph says, taking his own seat at the head of the table. He reaches out for the man, stopping him before he leaves. "Make sure you eat as well, as do the rest of the guards."

"Yes, Father, thank you." Thomas leaves them, shutting the doors to the kitchen on his way out.

Dinner is good and Rook does his absolute best to eat like a normal fucking person instead of shoveling everything into his mouth as fast as he can. He's fooling no one, however, if the way Joseph and John keep looking at him are anything to go by. John hides what is either choking or laughter behind his glass of water, and Joseph keeps making these little aborted gestures like he wants to rub at his eyes but thinks he shouldn't. Rook tries harder to slow down, dipping a chunk of bread in the stew, and making a real attempt at chewing it properly.

"And yet." John starts, setting his glass down. "I'd still argue that your table manners are better than Jacob's."

"John," Joseph says his name like someone who has had to stop this argument, or one similar to it, a hundred times before, and turns his attention to Rook. "Jacob would have been here, but the Whitetails have grown bold in their desperation. During Jacob's absence into Faith's territory they attempted to take the lodge."

Rook nods. That is exactly something that Eli would do given even half a chance and only the possibility that Jacob would be away from the mountains.

"Seems like the Whitetails might be too much for Jacob," John mutters just a little too loud to go unheard and ignored.

"We are all tested," Joseph says. "As you are with the resistance at Fall's End. Wouldn't you agree, John?"

John's eyes dart from his brother, to Rook, then down to his lap. "Yes, Joseph."

Joseph leans closer to John, giving his shoulder a light squeeze, and leaving his hand there, thumb rubbing a small circle against John's neck. "I do not say that to be cruel, brother. I only wish to remind you that He gives us all tests that we will be made better for."

"Yes, Joseph." John shoves a piece of bread into his mouth, chewing aggressively.

"Yeah," Rook adds, "and besides, destroying the town is one thing, but Mary May and Pastor Jerome are stubborn. They’ll never join the Project and as long as they’re still standing, opposing you, the town will rally around them no matter what you do. Most of the valley will, actually. The resistance needs someone to believe in."

Joseph gives him a curious look, but John nods thoughtfully.

The rest of their meal is less... contentious, though the longer it goes on the more tired Rook becomes. Exhaustion creeping back into his bones and he tries to hide a yawn more than once. He's slept a lot recently, shouldn't that be enough?

As the food is being cleared away, Rook pushes his chair back, intent on helping clean up at the very least, but his body disagrees. His legs shake and his vision swims. The only thing keeping him upright are his hands braced on the table and sheer force of will. He tries to breathe through it, hoping it will pass.

Joseph presses in close, taking Rook's weight and holding him steady. "You should rest."

"I've been resting, I'm fine."

"I will care for you when you will not care for yourself," Joseph says, meaning Rook has little choice in the matter and this is less of a suggestion and more of an order from the Father.

Rook leans into him all the way back to the bedroom.

His knees hit the side of the mattress first, then he's falling face down onto it and using the last remaining ounce of his energy to get himself all the way in John's too big, too plush bed. He's already falling asleep, eyes practically glued shut, but he turns his head in the direction he thinks Joseph is and says a thank you that gets lost somewhere in another yawn.

Whatever Joseph says doesn't reach him as the world falls away.

*

Rook wakes inside one of the bunkers. John's, most likely. It's loud, full of _noise_ that echoes through every chamber, hitting the bare cement walls and bouncing around the open passageway into the dark little room he's being kept in. The pipes, the vents, the generators, the _screaming_ all play in harmony with the blood rushing in his ears.

His arms are tied with ropes, raised above his head and the rope itself is looped over what looks entirely too much like a meat hook, raised just on the wrong side of too high. It forces the brunt of his weight onto his arms and shoulders which hurt like he’s being pulled apart. His joints feel stretched to the point of snapping. The pounding in his skull is almost pleasant by comparison. 

It takes a few tries to get his feet under him and he lifts himself up onto his toes to get some of the weight off his arms. Every movement causes a wave of nausea that really isn't helping the situation any.

There's no way to know how long he's been down here. Could be hours, could be days. Maybe, if he's very lucky, it's only been minutes.

When he's somewhat more steady, he test his bonds. The rope around his wrists is tight and his fingers are numb, but that may have more to do with the position he's in rather than the bonds themselves. After some wiggling he's able to determine that the knots aren't that great and that is something he can work with. If he hasn't been properly secured then he can get himself down, and if he can get himself down then he can escape.

Then he can go back... somewhere. _Home_.

It takes a lot of trial and error but Rook is able to loosen part of the rope, giving him just enough slack to dislodge it from the hook and bring his arms down in front of him. It hurts, a lot. There are pins and needles as the blood begins to circulate back into his hands. But he doesn't have time to let himself adjust, not knowing when someone might come back. He gets the rest of the rope untied using his teeth to pull at them while searching the room for any sort of weapon.

There's nothing. No knife, no sharp objects at all besides the meat hooks and he's not going to be able to get one of those down. There are, however, some plastic wrapped bodies hanging from the ceiling in back of the room. So that's fun. A perfectly reasonable thing to have in what can’t be anything but a torture chamber.

Eventually he does manage to get his hands free just as he hears the sound of boots hitting cement coming his way. Rook hides out of sight, using one of the bodies for cover.

It's not John, and Rook's grateful for that, but it is one of his men. Rook's on him before the guy even realises that Rook is no longer tied up. They struggle, causing the room to sway violently in Rook’s head and his back hits the wall, sending sharp spikes of pain all down his spine and into his ribs. But he maintains his desperate hold on the rope wrapped tight around the peggie's throat, choking all of the air out.

When he lays the peggie on the ground he gets a good look at his face. He's familiar, somehow. Or maybe all peggies just look the same. It doesn't matter. He has to get out before anyone else comes for him.

Once outside, he takes the first car he can find and drives the fuck away.


	3. Chapter 3

Rook tips his chair onto its back legs, knocking it against the house, and props his feet up on the porch railing. "So, I've got kinda a weird question."

Nick takes a swig of his beer and turns his head to the side, facing him, swatting at the moth that’s been flying around trying to get his attention. "How weird?"

"It's not like--" Rook drops his feet to the ground, his heels thumping on the wood and letting his chair return to its proper position. "It's just. How do you know if you're going crazy?"

"In this county? I think the first step is joining the cult. Why, you got something on your mind?"

"No," Rook says. "Maybe."

"C'mon, tell your buddy Nick about it. Kim says I'm a good listener." Nick pauses, considering. "Well, she doesn't say it, but I know she thinks it."

Rook finishes off the last of his own beer and rolls the bottle between his hands. He doesn't have the words to explain the mess inside his head. It's like he's straddling a thin line between two chasms ready to swallow him whole and part of him is desperate to jump. He remembers arriving at the compound and entering the church and after that... it gets complicated. "You ever wonder what your life would be like if you had moved away from Hope County? If you hadn't met Kim, or--"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," says Nick. "You are literally talking about a nightmare I've had."

Rook huffs a laugh. "Okay, okay. I just mean, do you ever think of the person you might be? If you made different choices, did things differently. Are you still _you_ after that?"

"We all make choices. Big things, little things, it don't change who you are even if you turn out different. You're still _you_ , Rook. Shit," Nick stands, picking up all of their empty bottles. "We're going to need more beer for this conversation."

Rook waves him off. The valley isn't so bad a night, when no one is actively trying to kill him. He can hear music playing, somewhere in the distance, far enough that the sound becomes distorted and slow. The crickets chirp along, uncaring of the melody.

How is he supposed to untangle his thoughts, his memories, when even now there is that part of him that wishes to seek out Joseph. Ask his advice. He knows Joseph would have answers, some explanation of how this is part of God's plan for him. Or he would offer comfort if even he didn’t know why Rook was made to see this path. John would offer a distraction, as would Faith. And Jacob would... probably agree with Nick. He laughs at that, how they'd both dislike the comparison.

He knows that he shouldn't know that, but somehow he does. That knowledge, that certainty. He's still him, even if he's different... the capacity to make those different choices is still there, too. And Rook _wants_. That's the problem, the crux of his confusion. There's an ache in his chest, a longing to truly belong. To be wanted and loved, to know his purpose. That feeling is new. A week ago it didn’t matter where he belonged, but now he's in limbo, unsure of his place, and more unsure with every day of where he started. And he still _wants_.

Joseph's touch left invisible marks on his skin and Rook hates him for it.

Doesn't hate him at all.

Rook gets up, stretching, spine cracking, and goes inside to see what's taking Nick so long.

Kim presses the barrel of a shotgun into his chest. It's a situation he's become far too familiar with in the last few days, and he’s more than a little tired of it. "Get the fuck out of my house," she says, every word bitten off.

"Kim, what--?" The house is a wreck. Bullet holes in the walls, trash scattered around the floor. One of the windows is shattered, but he doesn’t see blood anywhere. And no bodies.

She presses harder with the shotgun, digs into his sternum with enough force that Rook has to take a step back. "It's not that I don't want to kill you, I do. Trust me, I would love to. But Nick made a deal with you fucking monsters, so I won't kill you where you stand."

"It was his choice." Rook remembers it. Nick and his plane and his airstrip, for Kim and their daughter remaining in the house. Eden's gate would not come for them.

Kim screams, all rage and grief. "Get out, _get the fuck out_."

Rook backs off, blindly searching for the door handle, and nearly falls out onto the porch. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Kim, not until he reaches the steps.

"Hey buddy, you leaving? Thought we were in for a heart to heart."

Rook freezes, can't bring himself to face Nick. "Sorry, got a call. There's a thing I have to take care of. Nothing big, but, you know. Raincheck."

“Uh, yeah," Nick says. "Sure thing."

Rook walks to his car, focuses as much as he can on breathing. Just in and out, and drives down the road far enough that the Rye's property is out of sight, and brings the car to a stop. Then he panics. Alone, where no one can see him, in a car graffitied with _sinner_. Differences and choices and Rook's afraid of losing himself in both.

*

Rook abandons his car somewhere in the Whitetail Mountains after a spray of bullets and a minor explosion make it a less than ideal means of travel. He decides to keep going on foot, at least for awhile, getting from one road to the next by cutting through the woods. He's careful to listen for anything approaching that may want to kill him, which... is kind of a long list. Though not always at the same time.

He’s coming up on an abandoned campsite when his radio crackles and comes to life, making him jump, startled. For once he’s glad to be traveling alone so he can pretend that hadn’t happened and maintain some sense of his dignity. 

"One of my men spotted you crossing into the mountains 'bout an hour ago. Planning to come say hi?"

"You miss me, Jacob?" The words are out of his mouth without a thought to them. It's too easy to become the person who chose this, chose _them_. They carved out a space for Rook to fill and when he did he knew where he belonged.

There's static on the other end, then the creak of a hinge, and Rook can imagine Jacob getting comfortable. "Maybe I do. How about you come here and find out."

"Don't have a car," Rook says with a laugh that comes as naturally as breathing. "And I'm not exactly close to St. Francis." Honestly he's not entirely sure where he is. North-ish, he thinks, but he's been wandering around without any goal in mind and hadn't been paying close attention to his surroundings.

"I'm at the hotel."

Rook kicks over some of the debris littering the dirt near the tents searching for anything useful. "Not exactly close to the Grand View, either." There's a pile of old bones, too small to be human, and a broken flashlight. This place has already been scavenged. Not surprising considering how thorough Jacob’s people are.

Jacob sighs, muttering something Rook doesn't catch, and there's the sound of paper crinkling in the background. "What are you close to?"

"Hold on." Rook jogs to the top of the hill he'd been planning to walk around, but he needs the better view. He really doesn't know the layout of the mountains too well. There's smoke billowing up in the direction he came from and ahead there’s a row of houses that look like all the others in the northern parts of the county. A little further away is a one of the signs the Project erected. A promise and a warning. "The lumber mill, I think? It's not too far, maybe thirty minutes walking."

"Get there. Someone will drive you to the hotel." The line goes dead and Rook is left alone.

One of the judges runs by without its handler, completely uninterested in him. In the back of his mind there's that part of him that tells him that he should be afraid, but it's quickly drowned out by the desire go to Jacob. That part of him is stronger.

*

He hears the mill before he sees it. Jacob's voice over the speakers, a reminder on the value of strength in the new world. The reason why they are here, why all of them have been chosen for this. Their purpose. Only the strong will survive the Collapse.

One of the Project's trucks is idling near the entrance with a woman resting against the driver's side door, her forehead marked with the Eden's Gate cross. She stops fiddling with the scope on her bow when Rook gets closer. "Sir, we're to take you to Jacob."

That's when Rook notices the man sitting in the passenger seat who smiles at him, too many teeth, blood smeared over his face, in his beard, and madness in his eyes. Rooks knows this man. Remembers Jacob introducing them almost a month ago, a lifetime, it seems. He remembers Jess whispering _that's him_ as he lined up his shot. The Cook is dead, long live the Cook. 

Rook grabs for his sidearm, intent on correcting this problem.

"Oops, sorry Deputy," says one of the Whitetails, bumping into him and spinning to the side to avoid knocking over himself or Rook. He's carrying a box full of generic bars of soap and equally generic, and especially bland, protein bars. "Hey, I didn't get a chance to thank you before. For everything you've done." He loads the box onto the bed of the truck and turns, wiping his palms against his shirt, then holding one hand out to Rook. "Name's Kevin, by the way. It's really nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Rook says, shaking Kevin's hand.

The Eden's Gate cross on the side of the truck has been written over with the word 'Resist' in red paint. In the passenger seat is a woman who can't be much older than Faith, though her face looks more haunted than haunting, and she stares out the window like she’s waiting for the next fight.

Kevin clears his throat, drawing Rook's attention back to him. "Eli radio'd ahead, said he caught you on the cameras heading this way. Said to tell you that he thinks some of our people are being held at the Grand View Hotel and he wanted you to check it out, if you can. Guess your own radio's not work'n? We got extras, if you need," he says, all enthusiastic energy as he loads more supplies into the truck.

"Oh, uh, no. I must've just had it turned off by accident."

"I get that." Kevin nods. "Sometimes it's nice to pretend none of this is real, and you can't do that with Eli talk'n in your ear. Don't tell him I said that? Anyway, I'm all done here and we're heading out that way, if you need a ride."

Would it mattered if he said no? If he left the mountains, would that change anything? Maybe he's already changed because he doesn't even want to find out. "That'd be great, thanks."

Rook hops into the back of the truck and wonders who he'll be when he gets out.

The drive to the hotel is uneventful. Kevin and the other Whitetail are talking about things they miss, foods the want to eat, plans they have for when this is all over. A lot of what they say gets drowned out by the wind, but the gentle flow of their voices and their occasional laughter is a pleasant backdrop to the trip. Rook watches for anyone to drive up behind them, just in case. But Kevin must know the area well because they stick to the backroads, avoiding the roadblocks and any unfriendly patrols. No one shoots at them at all, which is a nice change.

When they approach the turn for the hotel, Rook expects them to stop so he can get out and go the rest of the way on foot. But instead they slow and begin heading toward it. Rook taps the back window with his knuckles. "Hey--"

"We're almost there, sir." Rook can't see the face of the woman who spoke, but he meets the Cook's eyes in the rearview mirror.

Rook jumps out as soon as they pull to a stop, surrounded by the faithful. Jacob is standing out front, under the midday sun, arms crossed, speaking to one of his men. He doesn't smile, or show much of anything on his face when he sees Rook, but there's a subtle shift in his body language. It’s a welcome home.

Then Jacob's gone, and Rook is too close, too exposed, and all he can hear is _that song_.

"Whoa, hey," Jacob says, suddenly in his space as the world settles and Rook comes back to himself.

He blinks the red from his eyes, and focuses on Jacob. Afraid that if he doesn't he'll be taken away again. He can't hear the song anymore. "Long few days," he says. "I'm fine."

Jacob doesn't say anything as his eyes narrow, searching Rook's face.

"You look like Joseph when you don't believe me."

That earns him a laugh, at least. "Not sure how I'm supposed to take that."

Rook shrugs. "However you want." 

There are people around them, watching with interest, eyes darting back and forth between their Herald and Rook. They must make quite a pair.

"However I want, huh?" Jacob drops his voice low to keep anyone from overhearing.

Shouting interrupts them as one of the prisoners throws themselves at the metal bars of the cage and grabs one of the guards by his hair. 

"Wait upstairs," Jacob grumbles, clearly more annoyed at the interruption than concerned for his guard. If they can't handle a weakened prisoner then they're of no use anyway. "I have to take care of this."

Rook backs away and slips inside the open front door. There’s more activity in the hotel than usual, probably because of Jacob’s presence. Someone is screaming in one of the rooms, loud enough to be heard from the lobby and Rook almost misses the muffled crying hidden underneath it. He wonders if either of them will make it to the end. 

His steps falter at the stairwell and for a moment he's unsure of where he's supposed to go. But the uncertainty passes after a heartbeat and he continues on to the third floor. There's a room that was once an ordinary hotel suite that has since been converted into something like an office and something like a weapons locker, but not managing to really be either. One of the hotel beds is wedged against the far wall, bookended by storage crates. It's Jacob's home away from home away from St. Francis Veterans Center.

And Staci Pratt is there, seated behind the desk, hunched over a large map that covers most of the desk surface. His eyebrows are pinched and his mouth pulled tight as he flips through several papers on a clipboard.

"Shit," says Rook. "Pratt?"

Pratt briefly glances up at him, then goes back to whatever task he’s currently in the middle of. "Oh, hi Rook."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm going over Whitetail sightings and reports on their movements, trying to track them back to the Wolf's Den." It's clear he wants Rook to leave, or just stop bothering him, but doesn't think he can get away with saying so. "Jacob thinks we're close," he says, grabbing a black marker from a pile of different colored markers, all of which probably have a specific use. He crosses something off on one of the reports, then draws a line on the map, and picks up a different marker, green this time, to circle a location. "I think he's right."

"No, I mean," Rook steps closer, wanting to keep this private. "I can get you out of here. Get you to the resistance, the Whitetails will take you in. You don't have to stay here." They aren't friends, not even close, though closer now in the Project, than they had been. But Rook can't leave him with Jacob, can he? 

Staci Pratt is very fast. Faster, probably, than he had been when Jacob had first brought him to the mountains. Before all of the trials and the training. Certainly more vicious, as he has one hand braced against the desk and one hand in a white knuckled grip on the hilt of a knife pressed just a little too hard to Rook's throat. 

"I am strong, they made me strong. _Jacob_ made me strong and I owe him my life for that. You will not make me weak again." The look in his eyes is familiar. All of Jacob's success stories carry that same madness. Rook carries a bit of it too.

"Okay, okay," Rook says, slowly, like he's facing a wild animal ready to attack at any threat.

Then, Pratt's posture changes, the tense line of muscle easing, glancing over Rook’s shoulder. "Is this a test?"

Jacob doesn’t say anything, placing a hand over Pratt's, forcing him to lower the knife. Rook hadn't even heard him walk in the room. "One of the men watching the prisoners got lazy, complacent. I want you to find anyone else who may need a reminder of what we do with the weak."

Pratt glances at the map. "I haven't finished--"

"Leave it, Peaches."

Pratt nods once, a sharp up and down. "Yes, sir." He's frowning, but he walks out of the room without saying anything more, and shuts the door, giving them privacy.

"You going to tell me what the hell happened?" Jacob asks, turning to Rook. "Do I need to put him down?”

"It was my fault," Rook hurries to say. "I may have implied he wanted to leave. He... didn't take it well."

Jacob sits against the desk with a sigh, spreading his legs so that Rook can be pulled in close. "Should I be worried about your poor judgement?"

"I'm here, aren't I." And there's maybe too much truth in that statement. He's _here_ , he wants to be here, and that _want_ hits harder than anything. It burns through him, his blood turned to liquid fire, turning all of those ill-fitting edges, those spaces where he shouldn't be, into ash. He knows the feeling of Jacob pressed against him, inside him, telling Rook that he belongs here.

He traces the bumps of Jacob's spine through layers of shirts, and tucks his head into the curve of his shoulder.

"Not exactly what I had in mind," Jacob says, but he takes hold of his hips, pressing the two of them flush together. No spaces left.

Rook scrapes his teeth against the pulse point in Jacob's neck, then leaves a series of soft kisses on top of it, then up and up to his lips. "Hmm?"

"Wanted a pair of fresh eyes on a problem."

Rook hums, stretching to look over and around Jacob at the map that's still spread out on the desk. There's scribbling all over it in what has to be an organized, well thought out, color coded system, but he can't make heads or tails of it. It's a complete fucking mystery. "The Whitetails?" He wriggles out of Jacob's hold, rounding the desk for a better view.

Jacob makes a noise of clear exasperation, which is fair considering. "Yeah," he says, taking a seat in the somewhat out of place looking leather office chair. It must have come from another part in the hotel. 

"See this?" he points to a location circled in green in the eastern part of the map. "Weapons cache. Preppers have these all over the county, but these were marked specifically for the Whitetails. Found a few so far and all of them have been around here."

"And you think the Wolf's Den is probably over here, too." It is. Rook knows it is, knows the exact location. He tries to tell Jacob, point to it on the map and nothing happens. The words are barbed, sharp, digging into his tongue and stilling his hand. Resisting him.

"I know it is," Jacob says, spinning his chair to face Rook. "Doesn’t mean much when we haven’t been able to find it. The Whitetails have gotten good at avoiding us in this area and we can’t track them very far."

The map has a lot of markings that Rook still doesn't know the half of, can only assume the darker lines are patrol movements and... supplies? And that leaves a mixture of symbols, numbers, and arrows that point at things he can only guess at. But there is something he knows, something with a clear absence in any writing on the map. He can give this to Jacob. "Cameras."

"Cameras?"

"You're watching them, they're watching you... Makes sense, right? Wouldn't be too hard to set up, especially if it's something they were planning for a while. Easy to hide, also."

Jacob's laugh is rich and full and Rook can't help the way his stomach flutters or how his cheeks heat up, or the feeling of pride he has for getting to see him like this. "Fucking _cameras_." He grabs Rook by his shirt, pulling him down into a kiss.

Rook braces himself on Jacob's thighs, can't help but to dig his fingers into the hard muscle underneath denim. He wants, he _wants_.

"Joseph was right about you."

"Which part?" Rook drops to his knees and paws at Jacob's belt. "Can I? I want to-- please--"

"Yeah, fuck. Yes." He lifts his hips, helping Rook get his jeans and briefs down. "All of it. Said you'd be salvation and destruction, that you'd be a turning point for us." His breath catches as Rook runs the flat of his tongue along the underside of his cock.

"Did he say anything about this?"

"It was implied."

That makes Rook laugh. Has to stop for a moment to collect himself, continuing to slowly pump Jacob in a loose fist, before sucking at the tip and pressing his tongue against his slit.

"Been too long," Jacob says, getting a fist in Rook's hair and guiding him down.

Rook relaxes his throat, swallowing against the head of Jacob's cock. One hand still wrapped around the base where he can't fit all of him in his mouth. The other hand is pressed to the front of his own jeans trying to alleviate some of his own arousal. He hums and the pull on his hair gets a little bit tighter, a firm pressure that keeps him grounded.

Jacob groans and says "Good boy," just loud enough for Rook to hear and he can't help the sound he makes at that, like he's dying. Tries to swallow more, fit Jacob further down his throat. His eyes start to water and he needs to breathe, but doesn’t care. Keeps going until he can’t anymore and he hollows his cheeks as he pulls back for air, placing a kiss against the tip. Then he swallows Jacob all the way back down.

"Fuck," Jacob says, hips jerking up. Just a little, just enough to make him choke.

Rook's jaw is starting to ache in the best kind of way. That little bit of pain doesn't matter when Jacob is making these broken off sounds, a mix of swears and Rook's own name whenever he does something particularly good. Runs his tongue against the shaft, swallows against the head, working his throat muscles just right. It makes him feel powerful that he gets to see Jacob like this.

He knows when Jacob is about to come, and doesn't pull away like he should. Just stays where he is, letting himself be held in place. He doesn't really like the taste, but it's worth it for the way Jacob's head rolls back and his eyes flutter shut. The way he sighs when Rook pulls off with a last gentle swipe of his tongue.

"I--" His voice is an absolute wreck. "I'm just gonna. I need--" Rook scrambles to get his own jeans off, push them out of the way so he can finally touch himself.

Jacob leans over to kiss him, licking at his teeth, uncaring about where his mouth just was. "Come on, I got you," he says, hauling him up and angling him toward the bed.

Rook stumbles, trying to kick his shoes off on the way but his jeans are down around his thighs, making it all very difficult. Not to mention he's painfully hard, cock bobbing with every step. Eventually he has to give up, falling backward onto the bed as he struggles to get naked as fast as he can, nearly hitting himself in the face trying to get his shirt over his head.

Jacob is just watching him, amused, and taking his sweet time to carefully remove his own clothing. It's frustrating, is what it is.

"Hurry up or I'll just do it myself."

"Patience, sweetheart," he says and, if anything, goes slower.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is almost finished and I have zero (0) ideas on what to write next

Rook hears the screaming before he's even fully awake and he doesn't comprehend the sound. Not yet.

He's in a cage, trapped like an animal, and for a single solitary moment Rook can’t understand why Jacob would put him here. What has he done to deserve this? His loyalty to the Project, to Joseph, is without question. His strength is unmatched by anyone the resistance can throw at him. He's-- he's the enemy.

Isn't he?

He's been part of the resistance for as long as he's belonged to Joseph. The memories float right at the surface, waiting on him to reach out and grasp them. But it's all tangled together. A jumble of snapshots in amazing technicolor where each one looks as real as it looks imagined. 

In all of them he matters. 

In some of them he's loved.

He doesn't see Jacob until he's standing right on the other side of the bars, holding that damned, terrible music box. This is worse. This is so much worse. Rook is trapped in a nightmare he cannot escape.

When the music starts to play, he starts screaming too.

"Shit, Rook, it's me. Wake up."

Rook opens his eyes, nearly flinging himself off the bed, but Jacob has a palm pressed to his chest keeping him still.

"'atta boy," Jacob says as Rook's brain comes back online. He rubs a calming circle against his chest, then shifts back to grab something off one of the boxes lining the wall. He's already dressed, which is unfortunate, looking clean and put together and entirely unfucked, and Rook has to wonder how long he waited after he fell asleep to go back to work. They're all running out of time. 

"Nightmare?" he asks, holding out a mug full of what looks like coffee but Rook knows well enough will taste like motor oil.

Rook takes a sip anyway. "What? Oh." It's not too hot so he drinks the rest as fast as he can, needing to wake up. "Don't remember." Doesn't want to remember. Same thing.

The sun is still up so he couldn't have been asleep long. "You bring me any food?"

Jacob tosses him a protein bar that sparks a sense of familiarity that he can't place. The foil crinkles as he unwraps it, reflecting off the light coming through the window. It tastes a lot like chalk and a little like food. "Yum."

"If you want something better, you can wait for dinner like everyone else."

Rook takes another bite and chews as loudly and obnoxiously as he can. "The romance is dead," he says, picking his shirt up off the ground. It's covered in dirt and sweat and his own come. "Did you at least bring me a new shirt?" He's barely awake enough to dodge the shirt thrown at his head.

"Do you want flowers, too?"

"Ugh," Rook says, shoving the last of the protein bar in his mouth. "I've had enough of flowers, thanks."

"They have their use." The desk chair squeaks as Jacob leans back, running a hand over his face. "We had one of the Whitetails here, nearly two weeks he stayed alive. Passing every test. Guess he knew where he was headed, knew he was gonna give up all the information in his head. So last night he tried to run. Didn't get very far, of course. The judges got him not ten feet from the front door. I think he knew that, too.” He sighs and stares up at the cracked paint in the ceiling and doesn’t continue whatever thoughts are playing out in his mind. 

When the silence stretches on for too long, Rook gives voice to the fear that’s started to build up in him. “You having doubts, Jacob?” It’s a dangerous road to go down, and they both know it. Rook is a lot of things, but he’s Joseph’s first and foremost and if one of the Heralds is questioning their methods, their _purpose_ , well… that’s not a situation he’s eager to be in. 

Jacob chuckles and Rook breathes easier. “No, I'm only wondering if sending him to Faith might've gotten better results."

“Ah.” Rook twists the bedsheets in his hands. "Maybe. Or he could have lost his mind to the Bliss. He was weak and nothing was gonna change that. And the weak will always try to escape their purpose."

Jacob doesn't respond, his focus turning instead to the map spread out in front of him. "Guess it doesn’t matter now anyway. I have men out searching for cameras right now. It'll take some time, but once we take them down the Whitetails will lose their advantage." He finally looks back at Rook. “You’ve made us stronger, you know. Made _me_ stronger.”

It's on the tip of his tongue to say that he knows where the Wolf's Den is, to point to it on the map, circle it in red, and draw some arrows around it so there is no mistake. But the dream is still fresh and the memories are fragmented, splintered, painful shards that keep him unbound from his true place. It's a betrayal he doesn't know if he'll be able to live with. He’s afraid to find out. "I have faith in you," he says and hopes that Jacob will forgive him this weakness.

*

The nightmare doesn't return and as the week goes on the details start to blur and fade, taking those memories with them. Rook stays at the hotel; there's work to be done in the mountains. Something he has to do before he forgets that he wants to.

Jacob's people are deferential to him whenever he joins one of the hunting parties, in ways Rook's not sure he's ever going to get used to. Even more so than in any other part of the county. Likely due to how Jacob runs his territory. Still, it's weird to be called "Sir" all the time and for people to hang on his every word like he has anything important to say. He's just a guy who used to be a junior deputy and who now serves the Father like everyone else.

Well. Not exactly like everyone else. And he may have been sent by God specifically to serve Joseph.

Rook is itching to leave the mountains and return to Joseph's side, but it takes nearly five days for The Cook to return to restock supplies and hand over a single traumatized hostage whose legs are bare except for all the blood. The Cook is practically giddy as the hostage is locked into one of the few empty cages and Rook notices that Pratt's watching too, writing something down. Their eyes meet and he looks as disinterested as Rook feels. What price have they paid to become like this?

Rook glances around for anyone in The Cook's entourage and spots the woman with the Eden's Gate cross on her forehead, the same woman who had driven him here days ago. "How long are you staying?"

"Not long, sir. Just had to drop someone off and grab some food and ammo. Should be leaving again in an hour." She smells like smoke and burned meat.

"I'd like to join you."

Her eyes go wide for a moment and then she grins. "Yes, sir."

They leave within the hour and arrive at a ransacked cabin somewhere off the main road. More of their people are there doing whatever tasks they've been assigned, though most seem to be watching the treeline for any potential attack. Near the front is a pile of burned corpses, charred beyond any recognition. Rook says nothing and moves on.

Apparently there's a group of civilians not too far from here and the plan is for two teams to go get them. One from behind and the other circling around to catch them before they reach the river. Rook volunteers to go with the second team, the same one with The Cook.

It's just a small group of them, on foot, in the woods as the afternoon sun filters rays of light through the leaves. There are five people to their team, allowing them to move faster, including The Cook and the woman from before. 

They make good time, reaching the end of the path where the civilians will have to pass through if they want to reach the Henbane and it doesn't take long until they can hear people coming. Leaves and twigs being crushed underfoot as they run.

One member of their team staggers back as an arrow pierces his chest and then things get worse. The Cook ignites his flamethrower, screaming about sin and the holy cleanse of fire while Rook tries not to get burned. Or shot. He’s not very fond of either.

Rook kills two of the civilians without thought and injures another who would have killed him the same, then takes cover behind one of the larger, non-burning, trees. Two of his own team are down. One is dead and one will be soon as he'd fallen in the path of the flames and The Cook doesn’t care enough to stop. The woman is still standing, though blood is running down her arm. She nocks an arrow and lets it fly into someone's head.

"Two more got away. We can catch them if we're fast enough."

"No," Rook says. They’re not why he’s here. "Let them go."

"But--" She pauses, looking around from the bodies of their own people, to the bodies of the civilians, and then to the fire that continues to spread, with The Cook and his madness as its epicenter. "You can't save people who are dead," she says, still watching The Cook.

Rook finishes what he had started and puts a bullet into The Cook's brain. Then another for good measure. And a third one for Jess, in any world. 

The two of them walk around the fire, no final words for the dead, and head out of the woods, back toward the road. Both slightly more singed than when they'd left.

"I wonder where the other team is," she says after some time.

"Lost, maybe. Dead."

"Was that the will of the Father?"

Rook shrugs. "I have no idea."

She looks thoughtful, staring into the distance. "Alright. I think I understand."

At least she's doing better than Rook is, in that regard. They make conversation as they continue to walk along the road in what he hopes is the right direction back to the cabin. 

“This way,” she says, turning where Rook would have kept going straight. It’s a wonder he’s not lost more often. 

Rook spots an abandoned car tucked between two small trees off the side of the road and slows his pace. "Hey, do you mind if I--" he gestures to the car, then hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "There's somewhere I gotta be."

She laughs a little at that. Either at him or at this whole situation. "Yeah, sure. We're not too far from our camp and I saw an ATV earlier when we drove this way. Plus, I know these mountains like the back of my hand," she says. "Go, I'll be fine."

Rook hops in the car and finds blood on the dashboard and the keys still in the ignition. He's really not sure he could hotwire anything right now with adrenaline still coursing through him and his hands starting to shake. Can he really be this person?

He takes a steadying breath and drives to the compound.

*

Outside the church, Rook's steps falter. He remembers the first time he came here, seeing Joseph in front of his flock and knowing that his own place was at his side. He remembers seeing a criminal in front of his followers and knowing nothing as he tightened the cuffs on Joseph's wrists. The bitter taste of fear as the helicopter crashed, or being welcomed into the family and being accepted and being loved.

He wants to tell Joseph everything and he doesn’t think that he can.

The church is empty but for Joseph sat in a pew at the front, head bowed in prayer. "I was waiting for you to join me," he says.

Rook takes the seat beside him, stretching his legs out. He's never really been one for religion or prayer, regardless of what path he's on. He does his best when he has to, but when they're alone, when it's just them, he can be himself. "I wanted to see you."

Joseph straightens his back, knocking his arm against Rook's own, and Rook takes that as an invitation to lean into him.

"Something has been bothering you."

A lot of things, but Rook doesn't know where to start. "How did you know I belonged here?"

"I knew you would come for me, but I did not know why you were sent. Were you to be a test? It wasn’t until I saw you that everything became clear. Hell followed the white horse and when you took your place at my side you became salvation for our people and destruction for those who would hurt us."

Rook takes Joseph's hand in his and laces their fingers together. "But what if I'm not-- what if I'm just me?"

"You have always been _just you_ , and I have always loved you for it."

Rook can't stop the soft sound of surprise that escapes him. He's never had this before and he needs Joseph to understand. He kisses him, tries to pour everything into it so he can know what Rook can’t put into words.

Joseph's eyes are bright and he looks happy as he takes Rook's hand and leads him to a side door that exits the church. "I had planned on finishing a new sermon I've been writing," he says. The sun is beginning to set outside, casting everything in gold.

"I can always go somewhere else."

"I would have you never leave my side if I could," Joseph says, guiding him to one of the smaller buildings.

Rook laughs, dragging Joseph to the bed.

Sex with Joseph is uncomplicated, as it's meant to be. He lets Joseph undress him, setting the pace until he's a mess of sighs and hitched sobs, thighs spread to give better access to work him open with long, careful fingers. Rook has one leg bent, curling his toes into the sheets. He tries to gain some leverage, but Joseph has a palm flat to his belly, fingers splayed wide, holding him down and Rook whines, needy, in ways he can't show anyone else.

"You are beautiful," Joseph says, rubbing little calming circles into his skin and pressing a kiss to his knee. "Shh, I've got you." His fingers don't stop pushing into him, stretching him, and Rook feels loose and so, so wet.

"Please." Rook's breath catches when Joseph dips his tongue into the slit of his cock. His hips jerk, seeking more, but Joseph just presses down harder so Rook cant, he can't-- "please, I need--" his cock is an angry red, leaking onto his skin, coating the back of Joseph's hand.

Joseph places a kiss over his heart and then to his lips which Rook accepts, taking everything he's given. "I've got you," he says again, gently sliding his fingers out and settles between Rook's spread thighs. In the space he's meant to fit. And slowly he pushes himself in.

Rook digs his heel into Joseph's spine to hold him in place, keep him right where Rook wants him to be, sighing with relief at the thick length of him finally filling Rook like he needs. His heart is going too fast and he has to touch every inch of skin he can reach. Every tattoo and every scar. 

"Joseph," he breathes into the warms space between them.

Joseph rocks him back and forth, fucking in deep, every inch of his cock sends sparks of madness up his spine. He drags Joseph in for another kiss, and whispers nonsense into his mouth. Makes promises he intends to keep, repeats vows he's already made. He needs Joseph to know.

Long, wet fingers wrap around him, jerking him off in time with each thrust, coaxing Rook into an orgasm that washes over him until he's drowning in it. All that's left of him are a mess of nerve endings waiting for whatever is demanded of him next.

Joseph presses his leg up, hips snapping against Rook's ass, seeking his own release. Rook knows he's about to come before he feels it. Has to lay a palm to Joseph's chest to know if their heartbeats match. It seems important. _Ba-bump, ba-bump_.

Later, when Rook is sprawled on his stomach tracing and retracing the words on Joseph's skin, listening to the soft scratches of pen against paper he asks, "Was this in God's plan, too?"

"Yes," Joseph says, setting down the notebook he's been using to write in. "As is everything we do here."

Rook snorts. "Really."

"I was chosen by God for a purpose, but He knew I could not do it alone and so He gave me back my family and sent you to me so that we may do what has to be done. Everything we do here is part of that plan."

Rook doesn't know what to say to that, so he continues to trace the letters, moving over the raised red lines of scar tissue. Every sin on display.

Joseph sighs, placing his hand over Rook's. "Have I told you of the visions I had of my brothers?"

Rook looks up at him, meeting his eyes, and shakes his head no.

"There were times that I would see them with me, in a future where we were together in paradise. I prayed that those visions would come to pass, that I would not lose my brothers again, but more often I was shown how they die." He takes a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. "I saw John's sin consume him and Jacob finding his purpose only in death."

Joseph tilts Rook's head back, placing a kiss to his lips. "I have not had those visions since you arrived. God sent you here, he gave you to me, and you have saved my family. Because you chose us as I have chosen you."

"I didn't do anything."

"You have done _everything_."

Rook closes his eyes and sees the bars of a cage and a world tinted red. There are other people trapped with him but their voices are a muffled, indistinct, meaningless noise, and the vision blurs and fades away as the song begins to play again.

He opens his eyes and sees only Joseph. "Will you read to me what you've been writing?"

Joseph laughs and picks his notebook back up. "It's not finished," he says and starts reading anyway.

*

Rook is drifting on the edge of sleep-- he’s been so tired lately-- when John's voice comes through over the radio. "Rook," he says, all lilting and full of affection. "Tell me you're in the valley."

Rook stretches his arm out, waving in the direction of his clothes where his radio rests a few feet away under a sock. He grabs at the air, fingers opening and closing around nothing. As if that will somehow close the distance between them. John speak again, asking for him, and Rook lifts his shoulder as well to gain another few inches.

Eventually Joseph gets up and Rook flops back down to the bed. "He's with me at the compound," Joseph says, giving him a look that Rook interprets as _I fear he has become overtaken by sloth_ , though he keeps that to himself.

There's a pause on the other end before John speaks again. "Joseph, I..." there's another pause and Rook stretches and rolls to the edge of the bed, getting one foot on the ground before he falls to the floor. "I plan to take back Fall's End tonight. It will be dealt with."

That gets Rook's attention, head turning to where Joseph stands. He quickly begins to sort through his clothes, unable to find his jeans.

"I trust in you, John." Rook doesn't have to look to know that Joseph is smiling.

"Thank you."

Rook feels a light tap on his shoulder as Joseph holds out the radio for him to take, just as he's found his jeans behind a small dresser along with a box of ammo and an old watch. He puts the ammo in one of the drawers and trades Joseph the watch for the radio.

"Do you want me there with you?" he asks John, while watching as Joseph turns the watch over in his hands, examining the back. It must have something engraved on it because he can see a spark of recognition and then it's carefully placed on top of the notebook still on the bed.

"Yes," John says. "I would enjoy having you by my side and to... share in this victory."

The people of Fall's End have been good to him in the past, even if that wasn't here, and even if they never will be again. He owes them for the kindness they showed him, though the thought doesn't sit right in his head. The lines are all wrong and the shapes are ugly and distorted and if... if they had just accepted John's offers of atonement instead of fighting back against the inevitable. Against the will of _God--_

The plastic casing on the radio creaks in his hand and Rook eases his grip. This is who he is and this is the path that he has chosen.

Still, the memory of kindness remains, digging its claws into his mind.

He must take too long to reply because John says his name again, hesitant like he's afraid of Rook's answer. Of Rook's rejection.

"Yeah, yes. I'll be there," he says at last, starting to get dressed and unbalancing when he steps on the shirt he was trying to pick up. "I will always be there for you."

There's static on the other end, but he can hear John's breath catch and hold for just a moment. "I have--" his voice is shaky and soft and he has to clear his throat to try again. "I have people watching every road into the town. They'll see you approach and I'll meet you there."

"Okay," Rook says, and another image scratches at the surface of his mind, insistent. "Jerome keeps a pistol in his bible. The pages have been carved out to hide it."

"I see," John says. "I will be careful."

The line goes dead and Rook tosses the radio onto the bed and sits down to get his shoes and socks on. "You think John will care if I make a quick stop to throw myself into the river? Last shower I had was in that frigid utilitarian ice bath that Jacob thinks is Good Enough at the hotel. It wouldn't kill him to turn the hot water back on."

"I'll be sure to let him know," Joseph says and when Rook turns to look at him he's studying Rook like a particularly interesting puzzle.

"Something on my face?"

"I am grateful that John has you."

Rook shrugs, face heating up. He ducks down and tries to focus on his shoelaces. "That's kinda... you know, sorta why I'm here. Not that I don't like-- I _love_ \--" he groans, burying his head in his hands. "You know what I mean." He feels fingers running through his hair and glances up to see Joseph kneeling in front of him, still naked and oh how he wants to stay. To crawl back into bed and bury himself in Joseph over and over for the rest of the night. He groans again.

"I know what you mean," Joseph says, grinning like he knows what Rook is thinking as well.

Rook leans in and kisses him, then regretfully pulls away. "You don't want to be there too?"

"No, this night is John's and I would not let my presence take from that."

Rook hums and kisses him one more time, letting it deepen into something full of promise. "Okay, okay, I'm going now." He has to force himself to get up and actually walk to his car.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaayy I finished a thing

Rook arrives at the outskirts of Fall's End around what he thinks is midnight, but what the small clock in his borrowed car says is 4:18pm which is almost certainly wrong. The moon is only a sliver, sitting at its apex, providing little light, though better cover for this mission. But Rook is having trouble seeing much of anything after having killed his headlights once he started to get close. He has to pull over and get out, afraid of hitting someone on accident or driving himself into a ditch. It wouldn't be the first time for either.

Not more than twenty feet from where he leaves the car, and over a small hill, he starts to see Eden's Gate trucks. His eyes finally adjusting to the dark. All of them are on the side of the road with people scattered around. Most of them that he can see are checking weapons, preparing, and when one woman spots him her spine snaps straight so fast that Rook winces in sympathy.

"Sir," she says. "John is up ahead. He asked for you."

Rook nods and thanks her and keeps walking down the road. The town of Fall's End looming in front him, unsuspecting. The closer he gets, the more sound he can hear drifting out from the town and into the night. Music from the Spread Eagle, someone's dog barking, people drunkenly shouting at each other from one house to the next. He doesn't feel anything for them and that, if nothing else, eases his mind.

John is standing with a man Rook recognises as one of his Chosen, and a woman he can't recall having ever seen before. They're speaking in low tones and Rook slows his pace, content to watch. He can see John's excitement, practically feel it, but there's a sharpness to him. Nervousness. It shows in the way he holds himself and in the tight, barely controlled, movements he makes when he gestures at something in the distance.

"You're here," John says, catching sight of him. His smile is wide and some of that tension falls away. All this time and he still thinks Rook will abandon him.

"Where else would I be?" He says it quietly, just for their ears, and brushes his fingers against John's cheek, trailing down his neck, and resting on his shoulder. He can feel the still tense muscle under his shirt.

John's nose wrinkles, though he looks amused. "You smell like you had sex in a campfire."

"Is it that bad?"

John laughs. "At least we're outside," he says and steps back, ushering Rook into the conversation he'd been in the middle of. "This is Christine. She's has been in Fall's End this last week, gaining their trust and learning their habits."

Christine is tall, nearly as tall as John, with big dark eyes and a friendly smile. She looks like someone who would be easy to trust, even with the hint of mania lurking just under the surface. That's not too uncommon in Hope County these days, and most people like to ignore it. "I have done what God has asked of me," she says.

"That's... that's good." Rook's never too sure how to act in the face of such true devotion. In all honesty there are times when he's not too different.

"Yes," she says.

John dismisses her, leaving the two of them with his Chosen to fill Rook in on what's going to happen. There are a dozen people at each roadblock, and more between, to catch anyone who may try to run. Christine has left a chalk mark on the side of every occupied house, indicating how many people to expect inside and of any potential threats. It's an imperfect system, but it's better than going in blind.

At John's word small groups of the faithful will sneak around the edges of the town, armed with Bliss bullets, intent on subduing and then taking every person they find. One by one. The plan is to move as quickly and as quietly as possible, until they've cleared each home, and then to converge at the center of the town. The church and the Spread Eagle, the biggest targets, will be left for last.

"How long have you been planning this?" Rook asks when they have another moment alone.

John folds his arms over his chest, then unfolds them like he's got too much nervous energy ready to burst. "A week or so. What you said at dinner… You were right. The people here will never understand and as long as the town remains they’ll continue to fight me," he says finally, the corners of his mouth turning down. "I had to ask Jacob for help with some of it."

Rook has to touch him, needing that connection. He places his hands to John's sides and brings their foreheads together the way Joseph would. "You were doing what you believed was right, John, and there’s no shame in asking for help."

John offers him a weak smile, though he knows he’s not entirely convinced. When this is over Rook will take the time to convince him properly.

Once everything is set John gives the order to begin. Rook takes one of the houses near the very end of town, with only a single man inside, asleep on an old couch with his shotgun within reach. He's Blissed and tied without ever waking up. 

Rook checks the rest of the house, just to be sure, and finds it already in complete disarray. Most of the drawers have been turned out and the closets emptied of their contents onto the floor, but no other people. The man appears in none of the family photos on the wall.

Rook waves over a collection team and goes to find John.

Two houses down they're already carrying out a group of people and one of the faithful has a rather large dog on a leash that he's feeding small pieces of jerky.

"He wants to keep the dog as a pet," John says like he can't decide how he's supposed to feel about that and is settling somewhere around disgusted.

"Aww, you don't like dogs, John?"

"Do I look like Jacob to you?" Rook decides it's best not to answer that for many reasons, but especially because he's pretty sure they're going to have victory sex later and he doesn't want to risk it.

They get through most of the town easily and already half of the people have been taken to the river to be baptized so that they may begin their confession in the new day. Everything is going smoothly so of course that's when the church bell starts to ring. 

It's a warning.

For just a moment every other sound stops and the only thing that can be heard is that bell. Then the fighting starts. Lights go on in homes that haven't yet been cleared as people wake up and arm themselves. Others scatter, some to the fields where they will be caught, and some to the Spread Eagle to prepare for a last stand. Fall's End will not go quietly.

Rook is too close to the church where the bell is drowning out most of the gunfire. He isn't sure where John is and that has anxiety sitting heavy in his stomach, his eyes darting around trying to find him in the dark. He weaves through the shadows, hoping for a better angle to see the main road when movement above him catches his eye as the second floor window in the neighboring house slides open. It's too dark to see inside until there's a flash as the gun is fired lighting up the room and leaving one of his own people dead across the road.

He wants to find John, but he can't leave this. 

The house is dark and smells of mildew and rot and Rook is almost certain no one was supposed to be living in here. Inside he can see that part of it has been burned through, leaving the south facing wall only partially intact.

It's difficult to navigate in the dark, and even more so when there's broken furniture everywhere and glass scattered on the floor. He's not sure how much the fire damaged and what's safe to walk on, so he stays close to the walls, careful of every step and every noise. 

Getting up the stairs unheard is even harder, but as more and more shots are fired he knows he doesn't have the luxury of time. There’s a hole in the floor at the top of the staircase that Rook nearly misses in the dark. His foot presses down on a partially broken floorboard that snaps and falls all the way down into what might be the basement, but it’s too hard to tell. He barely manages to shift his own weight back in time to avoid falling down with it. The sound of the wood breaking is loud and for a moment he fears that he has been heard, but the bells and the gunfire must have covered it because nothing happens.

He exhales slowly, refocusing, and carefully steps over the hole. 

The door to the bedroom is open, and Rook can see the woman carefully lining up her shot as he does the same. He sees clearly the moment she spots his reflection in the window pane, but the Bliss hits her hard and she's unconscious before she can properly react.

Rook is in the middle of zip tying her hands behind her back when the floorboards creak in the doorway behind him. He spins, leveling his gun at whoever has followed him.

But it’s John who stands there, eyes wide, and hands up to protect himself.

"Shit," Rook says, holstering his sidearm. "John." The kiss is deep and hard as he tilts John’s head for a better angle, and touches every part of him to know that he's okay.

"I saw you come in here," John says in the brief seconds when Rook lets him pull away. "Had to get to you."

Rook cups his jaw, feeling the scratch of beard on his palm. "I was looking for you, but I had to-- I couldn't just--" He presses his lips to John’s temple and just breathes.

"I know," John says. "I understand."

Eventually they make it back outside where most of the fighting is coming to an end. There were never enough people left in Fall's End to turn the tides in their favor.

There's blood on the church steps and the dead litter the ground around it. Their own people and those that belong to the resistance. Jerome held out as long as he could, but he's only one man against an army. Those are impossible odds for anyone.

He's restrained, but still standing and alive, being lead into one of the waiting vans. Rook doesn't see a trace of the Bliss on him either, and maybe that just makes all of it worse.

Rook wants to say something, do something, but he doesn't know what and so he does nothing. There are some people who cannot be saved, who will resist the Father to the very bitter end, and maybe for them the right thing to do is to just let them walk away. Maybe, maybe...

The Spread Eagle remains as the last holdout and even that will end.

Rook watches as an assault team closes in and Fall's End succumbs to the inevitable. And when the dust settles the dead are dragged out one by one and the few, the very very few, still alive are taken to be cleansed of all their sins. The smell of smoke and blood and death hang in the air.

_Hubris_ , Rook thinks hysterically and doesn't know why. He doesn't realise he's walking to the bar until he's standing in front of it.

"That everyone?"

"Yes, Sir, I think so," says Christine. "We still have to do a final sweep of the town, make sure we haven't missed anyone. We're gonna grab all the supplies that we can, too."

The music is playing inside the Spread Eagle, loudly joyous. Two men are at a table in the corner drunkenly arguing about which one of them could take Joseph Seed in a fight. Mary May looks up at him as he enters, giving a concerned once over. "Long time no see, deputy," she says, uncapping a beer and sliding it across the bar toward him. "Boy do you look like shit."

"We did it," John laughs, giddy in their victory. "Fall's End will no longer be a thorn in my side." His footsteps crunch over broken glass and splintered wood as he walks further in, coming to a stop at the silent jukebox. He runs a hand over the part of it that remains unbroken. "I think this could be fixed."

Rook sees the knife before he sees the man holding it.

"You okay Rook?" Mary May asks and he can't be here, he can't, he has to get back, has to--

Every memory that has been slipping away, every moment he's lived here, every friendship he's made since arriving in Hope County, all of it comes rushing back to him. It feels like a choice. He's still standing on that thin line between two chasms, each one a different path, and he has to choose where to jump.

The choice was already made. 

He goes to John.

John tips forward and the knife stabs into his back and Rook is running, mind clouding with wrath. He tackles the man to the ground, hears the knife clatter against the hardwood, but he doesn't see where it lands. It doesn't matter anyway. Rook doesn't need a knife for this, or his gun.

He grabs the man by the shoulders, slamming him back, grinning at the sound his head makes when it hits the floor. Rook doesn't realise he's going to hit the man until midway through the swing and then his fist meets flesh in the most satisfying way. He grins, all teeth and rage, when his fist comes away wet with blood.

"Fucking peggie."

Rook's got his knee on the man's abdomen and a hand wrapped around his throat, pressing his weight down to crush his windpipe. He wants to see the life fade. Wants to watch as he struggles to breathe knowing that he's going to die. Something cracks in the man’s chest and Rook can _feel it_. He intends to make this last, draw it out, so that the man lingers in pain before he dies. 

John has a different idea, however, and Rook catches on just in time to avoid the downward swing of the knife. It hits the man in the eye and he may have tried to scream around the crush of Rook's hands, but it's hard to tell. His body jerks in an attempt to get away as John pulls the knife back and stabs down again. 

Rook moves back, giving John more room. It's messy and awkward with John using his non-dominant hand, his right arm cradled against his chest in a way that has Rook worried about the extent of his injuries.

"Fuck," John says when he's finally satisfied. He's too pale and and there's so much blood.

"I need to see how bad it is," Rook says, prying the knife from his grip. It's a carving knife, probably from the kitchen in the back. He takes a shuddering breath as he sets it aside, grateful that it isn't anything sharper, meant to kill. He doesn't notice his hands are shaking until he's trying to unbutton John's shirt and finds it harder than it should be.

John hisses in pain when Rook attempts to get the shirt off.

"Okay, okay, just let me--" He untucks the front to get a better look at his side at least. The cut isn't too deep, but it's long, going from rib to hip at a downward angle. There's a tear in his sleeve where Rook can see his arm bleeding, too. It's hard to tell in the dark interior of the bar, and under all the blood, but he thinks the one against the back of John's shoulder blade is the worst of them. "Can you stand?"

"Of course," John says and doesn't move.

Rook has to help him to his feet and then keep him upright as they make their way outside.

There’s shouting the moment they exit the bar and a rush of activity as the faithful drop whatever they’re doing to make John their main priority. Someone starts crying, though Rook doesn’t see who, and nearly a dozen of the faithful run in to the bar like there is anyone left to fight. He doesn’t like passing John off to anyone else, but the two women appear capable and competent and much less bloody than either of them. Also John knows at least one of them by name, so Rook doesn’t fight it. Even if he wants to. 

"We have medics, sir." It's one of John's Chosen. Daniel, maybe. David? They've been introduced before, but Rook has never been great with names. "Can you tell me what happened?"

John is being brought into the weapons shop, of all places, and Rook doesn't take his eyes off of him until he's out of sight. "There was someone hiding, I don't know who, didn't recognise him. He had a knife. Must've got it from the kitchen."

"We didn't hear any shots out here..."

"I wanted him to hurt."

David nods like that's a sensible thing to say. "Well, good thing you were there."

"Yeah," says Rook, "good thing."

*

The sun is up by the time they get back to the ranch and Rook helps John out of the car, supporting his weight as they walk. John's covered in bandages and dried blood, with several new stitches in his shoulder, and his shirt left in pieces somewhere on the floor of the Fall's End weapons shop. Or what used to be the shop and is now something more like a bonfire.

They'd collected every possible item from the town while Rook sat anxiously by John's side as the medic went about tending to his injuries. Then they'd burned the whole place to the ground. The fire was only starting when they were driving away and Rook can see the smoke all the way from the house. It hasn't rained in weeks, but he thinks, he hopes, they know what they're doing.

John doesn't seem concerned so that's a good sign.

The destruction will serve as a rallying cry to the faithful and a warning to the resistance.

"Those are Jacob's men," John says, voice a mixture of confusion and annoyance, and he digs his fingers into the meat of Rook's neck where he's holding on tight. "If he came here to make sure I didn't screw up, I swear..."

"He's your brother, he cares about you. Maybe he heard you got hurt?"

John mutters something Rook doesn't quite catch, but he does relax a little. "Maybe."

Along with the handful of Jacob's men is Staci Pratt and Rook is honestly surprised, yet glad to see him so far out of the mountains.

"Hey, Rook," Pratt says as they pass and Rook waves a hand in greeting and makes a note to seek him out later to talk. Maybe they could be friends.

Once they're inside they get only as far as the sofa when John decides he's done and collapses onto the cushions. "This is as far as I can go," he says, "just leave me here," and arranges himself in a careful sprawl on his left side.

Rook rolls his eyes, but leaves him there, and goes to the bathroom to get a washcloth so he can hopefully clean some of the dried blood off of John. He doesn't see Jacob anywhere, but Faith catches him while he's running the water in the sink to get it warm.

"We were going to celebrate John's victory, then Jacob showed up and he's so mad," she leans in to whisper, "at _you_. What did you do?"

"Nothing? I don't think I did anything."

Faith looks back behind her like she expects Jacob to manifest and turn his anger on her just for mentioning him. "He was talking to the Father. I stayed away from their... conversation," she says the word like what she really means is argument, "but I heard him mention the Whitetails."

Rooks blood runs cold and something must show on his face because Faith leans in further, eyes wide and worried. "What did you do, Rook?"

"Nothing," he repeats, unconvincing to his own ears. He avoids his reflection in the mirror when he grabs the washcloth and runs it under the tap. He wrings all the excess water out with more force than he needs to and shuts off the tap.

Faith follows a step behind as he heads back to where he left John. 

When they get there, Joseph is kneeling beside the sofa, checking John’s bandages while John pretends he doesn’t like being fussed over, and Jacob stands an imposing sentry behind him. Rook pauses before he reaches them, shifting his weight from on foot to the other, suddenly unsure of his place. He made some mistakes, and he’ll atone for them, but if anything he’s done has hurt his family… The thought scares him more than Jacob’s anger. 

“Have faith,” Faith says softly, pressing against his back and urging him forward. 

"We're gonna talk." Jacob hands the washcloth over to Faith who takes it hesitantly and with a curious glance up at him.

"Jacob," Joseph says, "I have faith in Rook." Oh how Rook needed to hear that, always needs to hear that.

Jacob grunts and drags Rook into the kitchen, shutting the doors against the rest of their family. He looks as tired as Rook feels, probably as tired as he looks, too. It's unlikely anyone in this house has slept all night. 

"Joseph trusts you,” Jacob starts. “He has trusted you since the beginning, and that means we've all had to trust you." And that stings. Rook has done everything he can to prove his worth and his loyalty to them. He will do it again if he has to. "I need you to answer me honestly: did you betray us to the resistance?"

"No, never." He wouldn't. He loves Joseph, has killed for him, has done unspeakable things for him and has done so gladly. Rook thinks he might love all of them, but he doesn't have the words to say that yet. When he tries it gets lodged in his throat or the words come out all wrong. So he does his best to show them whenever he can and he’s always hoped they knew, but maybe not. If he’s allowed to stay, he’ll do better from now on.

"But you know where the Wolf's Den is." It's not a question and he can tell that Jacob already knows the answer.

"Yes."

Jacob squeezes his wrist again, a firm pressure around skin and bone, then lets go. They stand there in silence and Rook waits for him to say something, anything. There's nothing worse than a traitor and Rook will take any punishment that Jacob has. Even it means losing this, all of it, and even if he knows that will kill him just as well as a bullet to the head.

"Why?" Jacob sounds like he's in pain.

"The Bliss it…” How is he supposed to explain something impossible? “It made me forget where I belonged. It felt like I was someone else, like I could be someone else if I just held on hard enough. But it was wrong, all of it was a lie and I couldn't be that man. I chose to stay here. With you, with my family."

"And you sought out the Whitetails?"

"There were times when I thought you were my enemy and they were my allies. I should have known it was wrong. I should have told you, but I didn't know what was real."

Jacob sighs, out through his nose, jaw clenching and unclenching. He tilts his head back with a hard _thunk_ against the closed kitchen door. "I know what it's like to be untethered. To not know who you are or where you belong. I understand that. I believe that you have not betrayed us and Joseph certainly believes so, but I told you things I wouldn't have confessed to the Father and you lied to me."

It hits Rook a lot like a semi truck to the solar plexus that Jacob had shown him a moment of weakness, had spoken with honesty about his fears, and Rook had met him with lies. To protect people who would just as soon see them all dead. That's its own kind of betrayal. He knows Jacob doesn't trust easily, hardly at all, and Rook had taken that for granted.

"I can fix this," he says, reaching out for Jacob, but not sure if he's allowed to touch. That’s another kind of pain and in the end he drops his hands back to his sides.

"Tomorrow you will tell me everything. The location of the Wolf's Den, their movements, weapon caches, everything. And anything else you may have learned about the resistance-- don't think your comment about Jerome's pistol went unnoticed by Joseph-- and after that... I guess we'll see."

"We can do it now, I'll tell you everything--"

"Don't," Jacob says, rolling his shoulders back and pulling the doors open. "I expect John won't want you to leave."

Joseph is there waiting for them and Rook has to wonder how much of that he heard. Most of it, probably, judging by the way he brushes his fingers against Jacob's arm as he walks by.

Jacob stills for just a breath, and meets Joseph's gaze with a nod of his head. Then he continues on to the sofa where John is still stretched out, looking miserable, and Faith is curled up in one of the big chairs fast asleep.

Rook stays by Joseph, curling an arm around his waist and tucking his head against the side of Joseph's neck. His body is exhausted but his mind is racing, running through all the fading snapshots of the resistance. He doesn't want to remember the people, that part hurts like an open wound, but there are other things, useful things, that he can hold onto. He'll give Jacob everything.

"Were you having a secret meeting without me?" John asks with an annoyed huff as Jacob walks into his line of sight.

"Maybe," Jacob says, arms folding over his chest. "And what are you going to do about it?"

John throws the damp, and now bloody, washcloth at Jacob who dodges it easily and it instead lands on Faith who wakes with a shriek.

It's nice, in a weird sort of way, this family Rook has found. That welcomed him with open arms and gave him a home. He'll do anything to protect them, even if it means sacrificing that other life he could have lived. He'll cut every tie that tries to hold him to that life, that path, until there is nothing left. He made his choice already, back in the church where it all began. He will always make that choice.


End file.
